8. Jude
Monday, October 16th
I know I’m lucky to have an apartment down near the lakefront. It’s prime real estate and even though my budget is sometimes stretched thin, it’s worth the price.
My home office overlooks the boardwalk and Battery Park. I’m four floors up, so the sound of traffic below barely reaches me. Mornings are my favorite time of day because the sun rises over the lake and paints everything gold. Until I lived here, I hated being woken up by the morning sun.
“I don’t like to speak ill of the incompetent, but shit, is this guy the epitome of it,” snarls Daemon.
I wanted some company today, so I invited him over to work at my place. Since we don’t work in the same department, we learn a lot from each other about what’s going on at Wilder.
I chuckle to myself because I know he”s talking about Benedict, his supervisor. He doesn’t go by Benny or Ben or Dick—it’s Benedict and he will ensure you remember it.
He’s a pompous ass.
I’ve only had to interact with him once or twice. I’m not a violent person, but the second that man opens his mouth, you want to punch him in the face. I don’t even feel bad thinking about it.
“What has Bene-dick done now?” I ask.
Daemon stands and starts pacing around my office. Three, two, one…
“I’ve been working on the updated annual security training materials, right? Got meetings with information technology and cybersecurity all lined up; we’re good. I’ve been talking with these departments for months to get everything organized, create the assessments—all that shit. I saved everything in our shared working folder, including the presentation I’ve been working on for two weeks. This fucker—he shouldn’t be allowed near a computer. He deleted the presentation. How, you may ask? I don’t fucking know. Now I need to get in touch with our data recovery team to see if they can salvage it.”
My phone starts vibrating beside me and I see Lucienne’s name flash on the screen. I flip it over hurriedly and turn my attention back to Daemon, now splayed out on my rug in a prone position.
“Are you sulking? I don’t know how you deal with that guy.”
“Just leave me alone to die,” he mumbles.
While his face is buried in the rug, I flip my phone back over and read Lucienne’s text.
Lucienne:I’ve got all the initial design concepts sketched out. Sending them to the client now. Wish me luck :-)
God, I love seeing her name on my phone. On Saturday, when I sent my contact card out to the team, I did it because I wanted her to have it.
Every part of me hoped she would reach out. And then, she did.
I shoot her a quick text back.
Jude:You work fast; I’m impressed. Good luck, beautiful. I bet they look great.
In the past two days, we’ve moved into a new phase of whatever this is. We aren’t holding back our thoughts, and we talk about anything and everything.
Last night, I learned that she played the piano as a kid but quit when she was eleven years old to play soccer instead. The University of Vermont was her first choice for college, and that’s where she met Colette. She loves scary movies and Swedish Fish.
In previous relationships, I’d never been too keen on opening up, but with Lucienne I can’t help myself. My anxiety has kept me reserved and it takes a while for me to feel comfortable around someone. Sometimes it keeps me from getting to know people, but she makes me feel confident in who I am, in vocalizing what I want, what I’m afraid of.
It feels so fucking good, so freeing.
“If it’s any consolation, Greg is up my ass about the design concepts. Lucienne just let me know they’re all set—ahead of schedule, by the way—but Greg is under the impression we’re off schedule,” I sigh.
Greg is the chief product owner of our project, i.e., the head honcho who is ultimately responsible for the final deliverable. He’s a web designer himself but has been in management for the past few decades.
His obsession with timelines is the bane of my existence. Having to manage him is a majority of my job at the moment.
Daemon rolls over to his back. “Lucienne, huh? Isn’t that the woman you have made a habit of bumping into and spilling things on? The one you drove home the other night?” he asks.
“That would be the one. She—uh—we’ve been talking, actually. I ended up at her apartment on Saturday night,” I respond.
Regret. Immediate regret.
I’m too damn giddy about whatever it is we’re working toward that I let it slip without considering who I’m talking to. Fucking Daemon, who will want to gossip like a schoolgirl.
He coughs, pounding his chest as he catches his breath and sits up straight. “You fucking what?” he exclaims. “How did you end up over there? What happened?” He has his chin in his hands and he’s batting his eyelashes at me.
Oh, I’ve really done it to myself now.
“It was—uh—kind of a funny situation. She’s got these two guinea pigs, right? One of them ran under the fridge and I went over to help out. I had sent an email out to the team with my cell and she—she texted me. I happened to be nearby, so I dropped in. It was strangely nice. I didn’t stay long, but we got the guinea pig out safe and sound. Then I left.” I shrug. “That’s all.”
He looks at me skeptically. “Guinea pigs? Aren’t they rodents?” he asks, pulling his face down in a disgusted frown. “Wait, if that’s it, then why are you so”—he motions to me—“like this?”
I drag my hands down my face and lean back in my chair. “We’ve been talking nonstop since that night. I feel crazy, Daemon. I can’t stop thinking about her.”
The tightness in my chest loosens. Whenever Daemon and I talk about women, it’s usually brief and superficial. A mention of an attractive woman we saw at the bar, who we brought home with us. We aren’t crass, but we never really touch on deeper feelings. We’ve always kept that stuff to ourselves. So this is a first.
“Well, what’s the problem? Sounds to me like this could be a good thing. Come on; I know you haven’t been laid—” he starts, but I raise a hand and he stops.
“This isn’t about sex,” I snap.
I’m probably being a little harsh. It’s because it reminds me of the look on her face when I pulled away from her, when she thought I didn’t want her.
“I have feelings for her. I have since I scared the crap out of her in that elevator, but you know they were a little muddied, with me embarrassing the hell out of her every time we saw each other. Now I just want to spend time with her.”
“Lucky for you two because you work together. Have you talked about that or what?” he asks.
I shrug. I’ve been so wrapped up in sewing up the initial frays in our relationship that I didn’t even consider that working together could complicate things. “Haven’t gotten around to that. It’s not like we’re dating or anything—”
“But you want to date her?”
“Badly.”
“Jude, if whatever this is means something to you, both of you, it’s better to talk about it now rather than later.”
I know he’s right.
“Hey, I’m not saying don’t see where this goes. All I’m saying is you gotta be open with each other, you know? You gotta communicate. And if it becomes a problem, you know, keeping your work life and relationship separate, you need to be honest. If you do and everything goes well, maybe we can host your wedding in the lobby at Wilder. Great lighting.”
“Coming from you, the guy who only ever has one-night stands. Where is this relationship advice coming from?” I roll my eyes.
“Just because I choose not to sleep with the same woman more than once doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be a badass partner. Ask her out. Maybe to a restaurant or something instead of hunting down rodents in her apartment. Ruins the vibe.” He shrugs.
Oh, to the contrary, but I don’t tell him that.
As much as I want to pummel him, I’m strangely appreciative of his advice. Lucienne and I are colleagues, and it seems like we’re trying to figure out what comes next.
We kicked off with the client without a hitch and she started her initial design work. Soon we’ll start developing, taking her concepts and turning them into a functional site.
Outside of work, we’re finding each other, learning about each other in new ways. The two overlap so much—it’s impossible to deny that. But maybe it’s too early to talk about it.
I mean, I haven’t even kissed her yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.
Once our workdays are done, Daemon and I throw back a few beers. Well, I throw back a few beers and Daemon downs a six pack all to himself. I’m buzzed heavily when I call him an Uber and get him out the door safely.
When he and I were in college, we would party down on Church Street and close down the bars. Those days are long gone for me, but Daemon still likes to think he can handle massive amounts of alcohol without feeling like death the next morning.
I am going to text Lucienne when I see my sister’s name on the screen. Cassie and I have always been close even though she’s nearly ten years older than me. She’s lived on the West Coast for most of my adult life, but we talk at least once a week.
“Hey, Cassie-Cakes.” I smile.
“Hi, Juju! What’s going on? Tell me about your week,” she says from the other end of the line.
Only, and I mean only, Cassie can call me by my childhood nickname. At this point, I don’t even know how it came to be, but hearing her say it makes my heart full.
I take a pause as I drag myself to my bedroom and collapse on the bed.
“Ah same old, same old, Cass. Daemon just left; he worked from my place today.”
She sneers. “You still hang out with him?”
“Oh, come on, Cass. He’s like a brother to me. He’s not so bad,” I sigh.
“I love him because you love him, and that’s that. Aside from bro-ing out with Daemon, what have you been up to?” she asks.
Oh, you know, just losing my mind over a woman with curly brown hair who wears jack-o-lantern pajamas and smells good enough to take a bite out of.
“Just work, Cass. New team, new project. It’s going well, which isn’t too exciting.”
“Something’s up. You sound different.”
“I—it’s nothing, Cassie-Cakes. I’m fine; just some stuff on my mind.”
“Well, I’ve had a stressful week. Your nephew is in a play this year and I decided to take lead on the costume design for the whole ensemble. These kids grow so fast, I swear their costumes won’t even fit a week after I’m done with them. Charlie was like, ‘Mom! You need a Mega Cheese!’ He wasn’t wrong. I made two this week just to cope.”
I hear her moving around the house, probably picking up toys that my nephew, Charlie, has strewn about.
“Charlie’s a smart kid. I had one a few weeks ago too. I always think of you,” I say.
“It’s love between two slices of bread. Ugh, sorry; I need to cut this short. Charlie is back from hockey and I hear Rosie crying upstairs. She’s cutting teeth and is so miserable. Love you, Juju; call you next week. I’ll send pictures of the kids. Charlie has been asking about you.”
Cassie hangs up before I can say goodbye, but I don’t mind. I take the time I get.
She could tell I was hiding something from her—she always knows—even though hide probably isn’t the right word. I’m withholding something right now.
Talking about Lucienne with Daemon was enough for me. I kind of want to keep her to myself for now because the thought of our work and personal lives destroying one another hurts my chest. I try to shake off the anxiety.
Instead of spiraling into a million what-ifs or could-bes, I decide to bite the bullet and text Lucienne.
Jude:What would you say if I asked you to go out with me tomorrow night?
I’m going to take her out. I want to treat her to a fun date, centered around her. I want to show her that the things she enjoys are special.
Lucienne:Are you asking me out on a date, Jude?
Jude:I am, beautiful.
Lucienne:This is tempting, but…you’ll have to ask me another time.
Oh, so she’s not free tomorrow night. That’s fine. No problem.
Jude:How about the night after?
Lucienne:I mean you need to ask me in person.
Jude:Shit, you’re right. Guess you’ll need to wait until Wednesday.
Lucienne: 3